Chapter 1

Three years into our marriage, Julian Sterling finally held my hand for the first time.

Not in our bedroom, but on the granite steps outside City Hall.

He clutched my wrist so tightly his fingers shook, his voice cracking. "Chloe, please. Just give me one more chance."

Right behind him, inside a black luxury SUV, a four-year-old girl pressed her face against the tinted glass, crying out, "Daddy!"

I stared at that little face—a carbon copy of his own—and a cold laugh escaped my lips.

Three whole years.

He used work as an excuse to sleep in separate bedrooms. He claimed he had a severe germaphobia just so he wouldn't touch a single meal I cooked. During the holidays, he even made me take the cross-state train to visit family all by myself.

I genuinely believed he was just emotionally reserved.

Until yesterday, when his mother sent a text to the family group on SnapChat:

*Julian's little girl is so adorable. She looks just like he did at that age.*

The text stayed up for barely nine seconds before she unsent it.

Too late. I had already taken a screenshot.

Seeing me stay silent, Julian desperately started explaining, "Her mother walked out, Chloe. The child has no one left. I couldn't just leave her out on the street—"

"So what you're saying," I pulled my wrist from his grip, "is that the secret child you hid for three years suddenly lost her babysitter, and you finally remembered you have a free live-in nanny at home?"

His mouth fell open, speechlessly.

I shoved the crumpled divorce papers against his chest.

"Julian, I married you because I loved you, not because I had nowhere else to go."

"Chloe! If you walk through those doors, there's no turning back."

Julian stood frozen on the steps of City Hall, clutching the wrinkled divorce petition.

The wind whipped his designer tie sideways, but he didn't even bother fixing it.

I didn't turn back.

As the sliding glass doors shut behind me, the little girl inside the SUV called for her daddy again, her sweet, high-pitched voice grating against my ears.

I pulled a ticket, joined the queue, and sat on the cold plastic bench waiting for my number.

My phone vibrated in my purse.

A message from Julian: *Calm down. Let's go home and talk.*

Home.

What a pathetic joke. What in that penthouse actually belonged to me? Not a single piece of furniture had been chosen by me. In the fridge, not one dish was ever tasted by him. For three years, I had slept alone in that king-sized bed.

"Next. Are you here for a divorce filing?" the clerk asked from behind the counter.

"Yes. A contested, unilateral petition."

"Both parties need to be present for the initial registry intake."

I paused.

My phone buzzed again. This time it wasn't Julian—it was his mother, Evelyn.

When I answered, her voice was much more composed than her son's. "Chloe, darling, Julian just told me everything. Stop throwing this little tantrum. Come home. I'll have the chef make dinner, and we can all talk this out like adults."

"Evelyn, are you calling to talk about that message you panicked and deleted yesterday?"

Dead silence on the other end for two full seconds.

"What message?"

"'Julian's little girl is so adorable. She looks just like he did at that age,'" I recited every single word slowly. "Since your memory is failing you, I thought I'd jog it."

Evelyn's breathing turned harsh, but she masked it almost immediately, forcing a tight chuckle. "Oh, that! I accidentally posted to the wrong group chat, darling. That's just a friend's grandchild. Don't let your imagination run wild—"

"Does a friend's child call you Grandma?"

Julian's voice answered for her.

I hadn't realized he had walked in. He was standing right beside my chair, a stray autumn leaf stuck to his polished leather shoe.

"Chloe, can we not do this in a place like this?"

"What kind of place? City Hall?" I tilted my head, looking straight into his eyes. "Three years ago, we signed our marriage license right here. Ending it here feels poetically neat."

His Adam's apple bobbed.

Nearby, people were whispering. A young couple waiting for their wedding license nudged each other, the girl whispering softly to her fiancé, "Damn, that guy is gorgeous."

She wasn't wrong. Julian was drop-dead gorgeous. Six-foot-one, sharp jawline, intense dark eyes. In his tailored suits, he looked like he stepped right off the cover of GQ.

Three years ago, that very face blinded me.

"Chloe, Maya is still in the car, and it's nearly a hundred degrees outside," he whispered, his tone tense. "No matter how much you hate me, she's only four."

I nearly barked out a laugh.

"Are you really using a four-year-old to guilt-trip me?"

"I'm not—"

"Then why the hell did you drag her to City Hall? Did you think seeing a toddler calling you Daddy would make my heart melt?"

He clamped his mouth shut.

His silence was an admission.

I stood up and slung my bag over my shoulder.

"Julian, go back outside and turn on the air conditioner before your daughter gets heatstroke. As for our divorce—"

I took a step closer, stopping inches away from his chest. I was close enough to catch the faint scent of fabric softener on his collar—a sweet, powdery scent that we never used in our house.

It wasn't the brand I bought.

"The thirty-day mandatory waiting period starts today. I won't stay a single second longer."

As I stepped toward the exit, I heard him murmur behind me, his voice barely audible.

"You're going to regret this."

It wasn't a threat.

It was spoken with that arrogant, entitled certainty he always had. As if he had bestowed the entire world upon me, and I was just an ungrateful fool throwing it away.

As I passed the black SUV, the passenger window rolled down. The little girl named Maya blinked her huge, glassy eyes at me.

"Miss? Are you one of Daddy's friends?"

I crouched down slightly to look at her.

Her eyes were undoubtedly Julian's, but her pointed, delicate chin belonged to another woman entirely.

"No," I replied softly. "I'm nobody."